


The Devil's First Trap

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, No Slash, There will be singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor's psychic paper picks up Dean's prayers to Cas they discover that they share a common enemy. The Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Road Trip

            The Doctor was alone. For weeks he had been sailing from place to place, only stopping to watch a star burn out or asteroid shoot through the sky. But he never landed. There was no one to laugh with or explore with anymore. What was the point? Independent travel seemed less and less exciting to the old man, but no companions also meant no one would get hurt. Being alone was for the best.

            Most days, the Doctor opened the doors of the Tardis and let his feet wade in deep space. Outside the Tardis the Doctor’s shoe laces give out to the lack of gravity, sometime loosening up enough to float into space, so he always took them off. It was cold: the kind of cold that made you forget that there were things to be done. The Doctor was tired of getting things done. The Doctor needed a break. No house calls. No companions. He was on vacation.

            Today was one of his space-side days. The Doctor dipped his toes out the Tardis and watched over the Rose Nebula. He always came here when he was in a particularly distiant mood.  People don’t remember, but he was there when they named it. In fact, he was there when it was being created. As he got closer, the Doctor could  make out the portrait he had painted in its center with his gaseous-transfer processor. Her face was still the most beautiful thing in the universe. Another human-being he had abandoned.  Yes, it was better he be alone.

            The guilt was too strong. The Doctor pulled his knees to his chest and looked down on the small belt of space rocks below. Gracefully, the rocks twirled under the Tardis. They bounced off each other and looped back to the belt. Each one making way for their incoming partners then spinning them off again. It was like they were dancing for the loss of another companion: the Doctor had to go inside.

            As he turned to enter the Tardis he was flung face first into the wall. The doors shut behind him and the ship began to hum. Before he could get to his feet, the Tardis was sailing throughout the time vortex. Actually, the unmanned ship bashed repeativly against the unforgiving link between time and space. Small fires caught on from light to light. The lights still working sent strobe light flashes through the black smoke. Coughing as he inched his way up the wall, The doctor blindly searched for the controls. The smoke stung his eyes shut: forcing him to feel his way around the ship.  When the Doctor finally found the controls nothing worked. Not even the blue stabilizers. He was getting space sick.

           Then, just as soon as it had started, the Tardis hummed to a crash landing. The Doctor picked his faced off the floor and tried to rub away his massive headache. When his eyes came into focus he noticed that the lights were readjusting and the smoke had cleared. The whole place had that new Tardis smell and the controls looked cleaner than ever. The whole crash seemed to be non-existent.

            “What?!” The Doctor said, looking for an explanation. Main screen systems were all in check. Engine vital signs were ok. External barriers also remained intact. Whatever this was had to be another Tardis trick, but the Doctor couldn’t figure out its angle.

            The date and place were both boring: Portsmouth Maine, 2012.  As far as the Doctor was aware, Portsmouth was only responsible for being the home of the great-great-great grandfather of the adopted mother of the seventh worst presidents in American history. The year was equally insignificant. Its biggest accomplishment was restarting the boy band trend (which did inadvertently create cause for WWIII but that wasn’t for another four hundred years). What could he possibly have to do here?

             Then he felt the psychic paper. The connection was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, but it seemed oddly human. This couldn’t be good. In the Doctor’s experience, humans with supernatural abilities always meant trouble. After looking through a couple of boxes, and then a closet, and then a few kitchen cupboards; the Doctor found the paper. As soon as he touched it, the plastic cover was steaming. A few bubbles had started to boil along the edges and the smell of burning tar filled the room. Never had a psychic message ever appeared so strongly.

              The Doctor looked for an oven mitt, but all he could find was a " Kiss the Cook" apron. When was the last time he made a real meal in here ? The Doctor folded the clean, new apron and wrapped in around his hand. on the count of three, he flipped up the cover and ran to race his hand under some cold water. Once the buring red marks on his hand started to swell down the Doctor looked over his shoulder. There , in a strangers handwritting, was the oddest message he had ever recived via psychic paper.

             “Who is Cas? I’m the Doctor.”

 

            


	2. Dammit Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dammit Cas where are you

“Dammit Cas, where are you.”

            Dean’s prayers to Cas had boiled down to five words. He wasn’t losing hope; he needed a short prayer because he was praying all the time. He prayed before and after every hunt. Even as he was in the middle of ganking a demon he would look over his pray for Castiel. Cas was part of the family now, he should be a part of the family business. More than that, he should stick around to be an actual part of the family. Dean prayed at every meal too. He prayed on road trips with Sam. Dean prayed so much that it almost seemed out of his control. Every day those five words got louder and louder in Dean’s head. So loud, that he could hear himself saying it when his mouth was closed.

            At least the nightmares had stopped. For two weeks Dean hadn’t had a single dream about Ben, Lisa, his parents, or anyone else he felt he had let down. In fact, he hadn’t dreamed at all. When he closed his eyes all he heard was that uncontrollable sentence. Dammit Cas. 

            Sam drove the Impala up to Normand, Maine while Dean took up a case a few towns away.. Normally, Dean wouldn’t have let Sammy go on his own but that was the only way Dean could get Sam to shut up about “never letting him grow up”. Besides it was nice to have a break from his kid brother.

            In Normand there have been twelve disappearances over the past six years on the harvest moon. Every year one boy and one girl disappeared. The last hunter to have been seen in a ten mile radius of Normand was reported missing within a month of checking the town out.  It was an irresistible case.

            In Portsmouth, Maine there was a reported ghost sighting in an old barn. The article came from the Ghost-Facers website. By old they meant the late eighties and by ghost sighting they meant a white blur (possibly the neighbor’s cat, mittens) that passed the barn. Apparently, this case was too dangerous for even the most trained professionals, like the ghost facers, but the Winchesters thought they should check it out. It was basically Dean’s babysitter.

            Truth was Dean hated being alone just as much as he hated motel duty. It reminded him of all those years he waited by the door for his father to come only. Only this time he didn’t have Sam: he didn’t have anybody. Dean couldn’t even go for a drink because he was in the middle of nowhere without a car. Though, he probably shouldn’t have gone driving anyway. The prayers in his head were too loud to keep him from doing much of anything let alone operate a vehicle. That’s why he was looking up cat fur while Sam was on the tail of a possible Demi-god.

            Now, all Dean wanted was to sleep. He was at the tipping point between reality and dreaming. Between blinks he was thrown into one or the other, but he never could fully fall asleep. Right as he settled into a dream he would here his prayer and jolt straight up out of bed. Dammit it Cas.

            Dean was past the point of trying. The same five words kept repeating whether he was awake or not. Sleep came in twenty minutes intervals at most. He was starting to miss the nightmares. Dean tried to ignore the prayer in his head by listening to the sounds outside the motel. There was no wind, so Dean could hear the buzz of the neon motel sign. Every so often there would be the pop of a fly hitting the big, bright letters: BAD WOLF INN.  As he listened, Dean heard the hum of a truck roll by. Only, it didn’t quite sound like a truck and it didn’t sound like it was going away either. It was a pulsing _woosh_ that kept getting louder and louder. Sort of like a slot machine. But this couldn't have been an ordinary machine, what ever it was had to be big. Close too. Finally there was a crashing sound and the odd rhythm stopped. 

           The prayer was gone from his head just long enough for Dean to grab his gun and run outside. As soon as his face hit the cold wind, it came back louder than it had ever been before. Dammit Cas where are you? Dammit Cas! Dean’s hands went to his head as he dropped to the ground. His head was on fire. Those five words eclipsed all of his other senses, leaving only screaming and pain. It was just like his days in hell.

           After a minute or two the pain eased a little bit. Dean and blinked away the little black dots in the corners of his eyes and looked around. Nothing had changed. All that was out there was more rooms, the lobby, and a blue box that reminded Dean of an old telephone box. There was no wreckage or monsters to gank. Just you average motel scene.

           “Dammit Cas” whispered Dean as he pulled himself back into his room. That feathery-assed angel had finally driven him crazy.


	3. I Dream of Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have always shared a more profound bound. That is why Cas calls Dean first.

_“Dean.”_

            As the stench lifted from the fiery vents, it vaporized on the brimstone tiles. The air reeked of sulfur and burning hair.  The hellish steam filled the room: making it impossible to avoid breathing in the thick smog. Rats scurried to corners to scavenge for raw meat left behind by previous inmates. It was obvious that the vermin were well fed. The runt of the litter was the size of a small dog and the largest could squish him flat with one paw. The only time these monsters were visible were when they passed the pool of sticky liquid that reflected the flaming bars.

            This is where Dean woke up. There were no chains but he still couldn’t move. His eyes were frozen at the bottom of his feet. Only, they weren’t his feet, they were smaller. Covering them was the corner of a light brown trench coat. The shoes and the coat were both spotless but the wrinkles on the coat suggested that it had been in the prison for a while. How long had he been out? Dean tried to look for more clues but his neck stayed stiff towards the floor. For the first time in his life, Dean was still.

Then, as if he was controlled by some puppet master, Dean’s eyes began to blink. His neck moved up automatically and his shoulders rolled back on their own accord. And then he heard himself speak.

            _“Dean, we don’t have much time. I can only talk to you when the telepathic link is at its strongest”_ said Dean. Only it wasn’t his voice – it belonged to Cas. Suddenly the room started spinning and transformed into a strange sort of control room. At its center was a large panel fitted with all sorts of knobs, buttons, and who-knows-whats. The walls held no uniform shape and twisted every which way to support the mile high ceiling. It looked like the room had been plucked straight out of the nerdy movies Sam watched.  

            _“Dean this is the Tardis.”_ Said Cas through Dean ( or Cas through Cas, Dean wasn’t sure how any of this worked), “ _when the Leviathans left my vessel they loosened my_ grace. Cas fell into a painful silence. It took him ten minutes until he was able to finish his thought. " _As it fell, the power left by their presence ripped a whole in time and space and landed in this ship’s engine. With it gone, Crowley was able to drag me into hell. You have to…”_

 Then the phone rang.


	4. The Doctor Checks In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets shut out of the Tardis and needs a new place to sleep for the night.

Utterly confused (and a bit jealous that the call wasn’t for him), the Doctor stared at the smoking psychic paper. Who or what could Cas be? Was it the Central Andromeda Scholars? Or was it maybe Casper the friendly ghost? The Doctor wracked his brain for every anagram, alien, or planet that could be linked back to Cas. Castle? Cash? Cast? No, no, and no. The Doctor paced the kitchen with his fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

            Finding none, he decided to explore. While the Tardis was never an orthodox ship, she always took the Doctor where he needed to go. After blowing away the thick gray cloud of smog away from the psychic paper, the Doctor wrapped it in the apron and tucked it in his inside pocket. The smell of burning plastic followed him through the Tardis and out the door.

As he stepped off the Tardis the door slammed behind him, kicking him to his knees. Then there was a click and the lock turned itself shut. Neither the key nor the Doctor’s sonic screw driver could do anything to open the door again.

“Now why do you have to be so bossy?” the Doctor said with a huff.

The Doctor picked himself off of the muddy grass and brushed off the woodchips on his sleeves. All around him were used McDonalds bags, cigarette buds, and the smell of cheap perfume: obviously a motel. The sign said BAD WOLF INN: obviously this was for the Doctor.

The man at the check in counter was slumped over in his chair. When the bell on the door jingled with the Doctors entry, the man shot up and assumed a stiff I-was-awake-the-whole-time position. He stared down the Doctor like he did all of his customers, like he knew all of their secrets. It was all routine until the Doctor shoved a wad of hundred dollar bills on the counter.

“Will this cover tonight?” asked the Doctor.

The check in man stared at the money while he reached for the keys behind him. In his distraction, he knocked half of the extra keys on the floor. While he mumbled looking for the fallen keys the Doctor peeked at the registry. No one signed in under the name Cas. Before the check in man could pop his head back up the Doctor took one of the keys off the rim of a flower pot, thanked the man, and headed to his new room.

“People”, the Doctor thought,” how can the deal with rooms as big on the inside as they are on the outside?”

There was a bed and a table; that was it. After ducking under the low ceiling fan, the Doctor maneuvered his way to the bed and sat down. That’s when his coat caught on fire. The psychic paper was burning through its pocket with Hellish flames. The Doctor flung off his trench coat and ran into a broom-closet of a bathroom. By the time the slow, thick water had chugged out of the pipes, the coat was done for; nothing but ash and smoke.  The Doctor cooled off the wreckage with the slimy bath water.

From the sludge he then pulled out his screwdriver. It gave a half- hearted buzz then shut down. The Doctor cursed himself for forgetting to take it out of his pocket and tossed it a few feet away onto the bed. As he went to follow it he noticed a few last embers glowing in the tub. Cut-out hot, red paper letters sifted up through the soggy ashes spelling out, “Dammit Cas, where are you.”


	5. Rocking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did promise singing. Dean and the Doctor have a jam session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing time is now limited to whenever my mother's laptop is free. My laptop literally snorts at me it I try to turn it on. I blame all infrequent chapter postings on my laptop's inability to play nice.

Out of all the things Dean experienced in Hell, the headache that hit him when he got out of bed was worse. By the time the worst of it had past the phone had stopped ringing: One New Message From Sam.

_Hey Dean, looks like another pagan God case. Town isn’t talking. I may be awhile._

_From, Sammy_

   Sammy? God, Sam was starting to feel guilty. Dean grumbled about how unfair it was that his kid brother got to go out ganking some demon while Dean got stood up on prom night with a screwed up head. And man, was his head screwy. Over and over all he could hear was “Dammit Cas” until the words swelled into his skull. He would curse at Cas for messing up his brain, but he couldn’t stand to say “Dammit Cas” anymore then he was forced to.

            Dean figured he might as well try to make something out of that crazy-ass dream. But where could he even start? He sure as hell knew nothing about some Jarvis ( Radius? Tardy? He couldn’t remember that weird spaceship’s name) or where to find it. And how was he going to break into hell? Knock on Crowley’s door, bat his lashes, and say pretty please? The dream was probably nothing, Dean convinced himself. Well, tried to convince himself.

            So Dean sulked on his bed and watched the ceiling fan send dust clouds over to the side table. A half inch layer of dust covered the table and the old, crappy radio.

            “Well, at least I can have a little music” Dean said with a huff and he slouched off the bed. With slow, dizzy steps Deans hand finally got close enough to swat on the radio. Anything would be better than just hearing this dammed prayer all day. Dean stood corrected. Anything would be better than that prayer, except _Morning Maine! With Your Favorite Real Girl: Amy Nohl_. It took a little fiddling but Dean finally found some classics.

            Just as he tuned into the station the intro to Journey’s _Don’t Stop Believing_ came on. Ever since Glee covered it, Dean tried to keep his cool whenever the song played around Sam. He didn’t want to look like some fan girl “gleeking”, but the song was sweet. Call it a guilty pleasure: Dean loved it no matter what Sam thought. Since Sam was buddying it up with some pagan God, Dean figured he was free to do as he always wanted to.

           “Just a small town girl” Dean belted

           “Living in a lonely world” Apparently, the guy one room over loved journey too.

          “She took the midnight train going anywhere” they sang together

           This went on for a while. Normally, Dean hated karaoke, but this was his song and rocking out distracted him from his headache.  He and the stranger traded off versus and guitar solos perfectly. No overlap. No awkward gaps. It was epic. Then, the last chord absorbed into the cheap sheets and Asia took over the station. Much more stable now, Dean walked to the radio and shut it off. _Heat of the Moment_ gave him a weird feeling. Through the thin dry wall he could still hear a slight hum of the song; just enough to block out the rest of his head ache.

           Dean blinked his eyes and rolled into the sagging part of the mattress. The ceiling fan clicked along with the faint tune of the radio next-door. It was so peaceful. Just as he was about the go to sleep there was a knock at the door.

           With a groan Dean grabbed the gun from under his pillow and looked out the window. First, he saw the hem of a brown trench coat: Castiel. But it was the wrong color brown and red converse stuck out from under the edges. The man looked more goofy then demon possessed, he was probably safe.

Before the door was fully opened the odd man came sweeping in.

        “ Hello, I’m the Doctor! We’ve met, well, we’ve sang. Just now actually. Through the walls. You can sing! Oh put that gun away, I hate guns.  Are you psychic? What’s your name? Like I said I’m the Doctor, you nearly burn me up last night with you little psycho-mumbo-jumbo trick, what’s worse it you broke my screw driver: I can’t fix it till I can get back into my Tardis. Well, what’s wrong with you I asked you a question: What’s your name? And… Well technically I asked you two questions. So What’s your name and how did you burn through my psychic paper?” Said the Doctor.  

         “How bout I tell you where you can…” Before Dean could think up something clever he paused. Tardis was the name of that mega-ship Cas was talking about. Whoever this weird guy was, Dean needed him.

        “Dean and I don’t know” Dean responded.

        And the Doctor was off, licking and smelling things for some sort of psychic amplifier. But besides an unusual aerosol sulfur content, nothing seemed too strange.


	6. A Warning

“Daddy’s home boys.” Crowley said as he pushed his way past the Doctor. Before he could stable himself from the push, the Doctor spun a 180 and sniffed the sulfur trail leading to the demon’s shoes. Humanoid, smells like sulfur, and the ability to either stay invisible or simultaneously travel through space; the Doctor had trouble identifying the new life-form. No, he couldn’t be from the Calypso Galaxy (feet were too small). No, not the Gilgapuf Nebula ( he was a solid being not a gas). He certainly wasn’t from Earth. As the Doctor sat on the carpet counting off the possibilities on his fingers, Dean sprung for the salt gun resting on the leg of the nightstand.  
“First Mr. Loony-Tunes and now stinking demon?” Dean shouted, “this isn’t a god-dammed party!”   
With a snap of Crowley’s fingers Dean crippled to the floor.  
“Now Dean, (DammitCasWhereAreYou) I hope you don’t mind (DammitCasWhereAreYou) that I overheard that little love note your angel-boy sent you. (DammitCas)” Crowley snapped his fingers again the prayer stopped instantly, “have to make sure he won’t try to escape.”  
A few more breaths a Dean would have been able to think of something snarky to say but his head still hurt like Hell. His fingers choked the edges of welcome mat pulling him towards the salt gun. It was useless now that Crowley could force him to his knees with a bat of an eye. Still, he kept moving forward. Crowley just watched with a crocked smile and, right when Dean started to reach up and grab the gun, he snapped his fingers.  
The Doctor reached to his coat pocket to fish out his screwdriver. Still sitting, he set it to three and pointed it at the demon. Nothing happened. Inside the small circuits, sludgy bath water settled in the grooves. He was defenseless. While the Doctor tinkered Crowley’s focus was more set on Dean.   
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice” Crowley said as he snapped Dean out of it, “that little damsel in distress signal of yours?” Then he snapped again. Either out of spite or plain stupidity Dean stretched for the gun again and again and again, each time getting pushed back by a searing headache.   
“Don’t make me snap my fingers in a Z-for-mation!”   
Crowley was relentless. Maybe this time, pain would be enough incentive to stop a Winchester. If not physical pain, maybe the sheer embarrassment of being thrown to his knees would cure him of his strange desire to die for his friends. Smiling at the idea of Dean backing out Crowley continued to play cat and mouse. Dean was only fidgeting on the floor in between hits. His brain, so focused on that one sentence, sent little instruction to his nerves. So he just lay there, putting whatever strength he had into sliding towards the salt gun. Cas will be ok, Dean thought, if I could just send Crowley packing.   
Then there was a buzzing and from the corner of his eye Dean could see a bright blue light. When the light faded so did Crowley and then, the rest of Dean’s senses.


	7. The Doctor : Friend or Foe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when the Doctor is left to take care of the after math of Crowley's attack, he remembers the last time he thought he faced the devil.

            It worked.  By eliminating the sulfur content in the room the Doctor was able to disperse Crowley as well. The Doctor, still stumped as to what Crowley could be, made a list: travels between places almost instantaneously, insane sulfur contents in his blood, and psychic. Something was familiar about Crowley and it was just at the tip of the Doctor’s tongue. Something that made the Doctor sick with worry.

            But for now, someone had to wake up Dean. Under the table, Dean lay unconscientiously; still hugging onto his gun.  The Doctor picked away at Deans fingers until they were off the trigger and gently pulled away the gun. He stared at it with contempt; there was nothing worse than guns. Then, near the tip of the gun, he noticed a devils trap carved into the metal.

 

 _There is no such thing as the Devil._ _The Doctor scanned the snarling beast. His horns were massive, his skin was as red as the flames below him, his chains alone must weighed more than all of England.  But whatever this thing was before him had to be just another alien, not a demon because demons aren’t real._

_“I accept that you exist. I don’t have to accept what you are, but your physical existence I give you that.” The Doctor shouted._

_Never before had the Doctor been so terrified. This monster crushed the rocks of his earthy prison and roared in anger. This was not some intelligent foreign language; this was the cry of a true beast. As the rocks fell they crumbled into dust, sending sulfur into the air. The pit reeked of it. All this fire and brimstone-maybe it was hell._

           The smell of burning polyester snapped the Doctor out of his train of thought. The psychic paper had flared up in-between shocks from Crowley, but now it was steadily burning like the night before. Startled, the Doctor flung off his coat and stomped out the flame (this time remembering to take out his screwdriver first). It was no use: the flames kept coming.  Again, the Doctor was forced to plunge his coat in motel bath water. At this rate he wouldn’t own any more coats. The water crept out of the faucet and after a minute or two there was enough water to submerge the pocket with the paper. Still no use. The fire flamed just as brightly underwater as it did above. The mental wave lengths it would take to continuously keep that fire going was beyond anything the Doctor had ever seen.

            He had to stop the psychic connection. Rushing back to Dean, the Doctor pulled out his screw driver and scrambled through the settings. Small flames had already started at the ends of Dean’s hair and the ends of his shoes. The fire burned white, slowly inching towards the rest of him. Right as the flames melted through the soles of Dean’s feet, the Doctor pressed the button on his screwdriver. Immediately some of the connection was rocked loose. Still, the flames continued, only this time burning red instead of white. The Doctor switched to a stronger setting as the flames scorched the rest of Dean’s hair. With a few more hits, the Doctor was finally able to stop the fire.

            “Cas, where the…Dammit” Dean coughed.

           Still too weak to sit up completely, he settled for nudging himself up the leg of the table. With a few heavy breaths he wrapped one arm around the table and grabbed his head with the other. The room was blurred into lines of color and each breath Dean took added more lines and details. Soon he could identify the chair, his bed, and, eventually, that guy who called himself the Doctor.

            “Hey Doc ” Dean gasped “ I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but that was an important call!” 


	8. The Tardis Vault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I post so irregularly. Wrapping up the school year is so chaotic I never know when I will be creative enough to make something worth reading. Bare with me just a little longer. I promise summer will be better.

He must have died. He must have died and got kicked out of hell. When Dean woke up his mother was sitting at his bedside with an ice pack for his fever. The frozen zip-lock numbed the roaring headache still stabbing at Dean’s temples. Damn Crowley: evil twisted bastard.

            With the pain gone, Dean looked around the room. It was the exact same way he left it the night of the fire. “Screw the man” were the last words he ever said in that room before flinging his toy trains at their tracks. The blue one, the coolest, landed on top on the toy police station. It seemed fitting. This is how that night should have gone. Cool and calm. When he finally got the courage Dean rolled his head to cover the tear stain on his pillow.

            “Mom?” coughed Dean

            “Dean, I’m sorry. This is not the memory I would have picked” The voice was Castiel’s

            Like paint, the scene of Dean’s boyhood home dripped down until the house was bare. Instead of Dean’s mother, Cas slumped over: chained to a grey stool. Of course, why would Dean ever think he’d actually get kicked out of hell when he died? In the first message Dean couldn’t see the angel’s face. Now, he could see what happens in hell when it takes an angel prisoner. His skull and spine were all that was left of his skeleton, leaving only a puddled mass linked by the neck to the chair. For the first time Dean felt sorry for the poor son-of-a-bitch that Cas bunked in. And to think, Dean was almost some little angel boy too.

            “I had to hide this message from Crowley. If I could have chosen where it was hidden…It is hard to keep secrets in here.” Cas whispered.

            Keeping a dead-pan expression Cas looked to the walls and a whole scene began to roll down the walls. The Tardis wasn’t any easier to take in the second time. Dean ran his hand over the Swiss cheese walls and gave it a pat. Yup, this had to be the weirdest thing he had ever seen. He spoke too soon. With a jolt, the two were ripped through the hallways and rooms of the spaceship until they reached a large storage room.

            “ 114B” Cas managed to say as he lowered his head to his chest.

            After a few minutes of searching Dean found the small garage door marked “114B”.

 Dean wasn’t sure if he touched it or if it just flew open, but the next thing he knew he was staring at a soft glowing ball. It stood on a glossy marble pedestal inscribed “ Appeared in engine room, 134 B.C. , to be Paris, France.”

            “You lost your grace before…Jesus Christ, Cas!” shouted Dean.

            “No. On your timeline I probably only lost it four to five months ago. However, the energy created when separating me from my grace could have sent it to a time lord before Jesus was born on earth.”

            Cas looked defeated. He was helpless and hopeless unless, once again, he could be saved by a Winchester. This is not the way of Angels. A warrior of God should protect mankind, not drag them into hell. Why couldn’t Cas ever do what was expected of him?

            “Dean…you shouldn’t” Cas sighed.

            Then the paint started to melt off again. As Dean waited for a new change in scenery, he realized this time the dream was ending. The lines of sliding paint became rays of motel light. But what? what shouldn’t he do? It was pointless asking; Dean’s eyes were completely open and the Doctor was staring him square in the face.

            “Hey Doc ” Dean gasped “ I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but that was an important call!”

            


	9. Kiss my ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little more graphic so just keep that in mind!

“You shouldn’t keep doing things for me” said Cas as the paint dripped into his prison cell.

He probably deserved this. It was Cas that went against heaven, _against God_. How could he ever believe that he could hold the souls of purgatory for his own power? Stupid. What was worse is now, once again, Cas found himself dragging Dean back into perdition. No amount of missing bones could match the pain of that guilt.

Then he heard hell’s bells ring: Alastair. One by one Cas heard the demon snake his way from cell to cell. First, there were a few splashy steps of the demons boots treading through human somethings. Then, screams. As an Angel Cas wasn’t effected by the lagging Hell time. To him the days spun as quickly as they did on earth. He realized that his torture repeated itself every half-hour like clockwork. As the echoes of the demon’s feet grew louder the angel braced himself. He deserved this, Cas knew he did.

“Ah, hello my sweet.” Alastair spoke through his toothy grin revealing bits of liver and lung.

The demon circled the cell with his fingers dragging along the brimstone. Then he pulled out a large pair of dull pliers and continued to blunt the edges by smacking the sides against the cell bars. When the edges were jagged, Alastair spun them around and smacked Cas’ spine with full force. Then he retraced the scars on Cas’ back following up the spine.

“Which vertebrae today my angel?” asked Alastair, “How about this middle one?”

Hitting each vertebra, Alastair counted his way to the middle and began to snip. Each cut was short and ended with a twist, slowly revealing the bone. It took a thousand snips on each side before the vertebra was loose. Careful to preserve the nerves attached to the bone, Alastair began to carve.

When he finished he was left with an ivory ring. The flames of hell twisted around the band, burning the angels under Crowley’s feet. For a finishing touch, the demon blew hell fire from his mouth and burnt the angels black.

“My angel, I feel you have stopped respecting me. Tsk Tsk Tsk, how can I know where you loyalty lies when you never tell me anything?” Said Alastair as he admired his new jewelry. “All I want is a simple little gesture…I know…kiss my ring.”

Cas looked away, he knew he deserved no more pride but something kept nagging him. Dean lasted 3 months in Hell to save his brother; Cas would make him proud. He brought his lips to the ring and, instead of kissing it, spit.

“Kiss my ass first.” Yes, that is what Dean would have said. Dean always knew what to say when he was scared.

“You filthy fallen angel! You are no better than Lucifer. What gives you the right to deny your betrayal to heaven?” Alastair shouted.

What could Cas say? The demon was right, Cas did betray heaven. It was pathetic, Cas thought, for him to want to live. Dean never betrayed his faith. This was Cas’ shame alone. So when he kissed the ring, he tried to avoid the angels. 


	10. 114B

After a few days of poking, testing, and sonic-ing: the Doctor successfully patched the psychic riff in Dean’s brain. The results were fascinating. At the core of his cerebrum, it was as if a portal between the universes had opened up. Obviously, the energy created by even this small hole should have seized Dean entirely but for some reason he only suffered fiery headaches.  It was like dropping a rock in the ocean and watching it float away with the waves instead of sinking to the bottom. Fascinating! The Doctor was as curious as he was worried ; He refused to let Dean out of his sight for the time being.

            “Have you ever thought about time travel?” The Doctor asked.

            Dean stopped cleaning his gun. Go back in time? He could stop his mom from checking in on Sammy. He could keep away from Ben and Lisa so they never had to forget him. He could save Joe, or Bobby, or his dad. Dean counted the mistakes he made as he stared blankly at his hands. When he ran out of fingers, and then toes, he replied: yes, he thought about going back all the god-damned time.

            With the trap set, it took the Doctor a matter of minutes to convince Dean to be his next companion. The Doctor thought it was he lure of time travel, but Dean knew that this “Tardis” was Cas’s only hope. And dammit Cas was coming back. Once Dean packed up his things, they headed for the ship.

            “Now this lock gave me a bit of trouble the last time so,” The Doctor said as he got ready to bust down the Tardis door. As he turned the key he gave a little shove and was sent flying into the Tardis. Oh, he thought, so now you want me back. The Doctor picked himself off the metal floor and swept around to catch Dean’s first reaction. It was the Doctors favorite part of adding on a new companion. The awe. The wonder. The questions. It gave him some secret pride in his girl.

            Nothing. Dean’s face didn’t even change in the slightest. He took extra precautions to not be carried away like he did in Cas’s visions. He had seen it before and was determined on not freaking out like some preppy little fan-girl. Still, the place was pretty bad-ass. The Doctor dropped his jaw a little, upset that the Tardis did not seem to charm Dean like the others. The pressure was on.

            “Where would you like to go first? Ancient Rome? Another Galaxy? Meet Albert Einstien? Yes,  he’s an old friend I’m sure he’d love to meet you! Alrighty , hold on….” The Doctor rambled. He would impress his new companion! But, Dean stopped him.

            “Actually I want a tour of this …Tardis-thing.” Dean said. Play it cool, Dean thought, try to find the storage room on your own and you’ll get lost. So he let the Doctor lead him all through the twists and turns of the ship. First, the kitchen : housing 983,375,459 kitchen utensils from across the galaxies. Unfortunately, none of it ever got used seeing as the Doctor wasn’t much of a cook. Then they went on to the closet. Also pretty inactive because the             Doctor only wore a few things compared to the extensiveness of the closet. The swimming pool, the indoor garden, the art gallery, the taxidermy museum, and all the other rooms seemed to be useless, no matter how awesome they were. Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy, All this stuff and nothing to do with it.

            Finally they got to the storage room. The doctor swung open the door briefly, revealing the oddly shaped doors. Some were blue, some were yellow, and some were even furry. For a storage locker, this place was pretty impressive. Again, it was no surprise to Dean when the Doctor said he never really looked at the things he stored away all too often. This was Dean’s only chance.

            “C’mon Doc! All this time-travel and you haven’t found anything cool enough to check out twice? Let’s take a look”

            Excited that Dean actually started to look impressed, he began down the halls of the storage room. In the first room, one with a yellow door with carvings or goddess heads, lay a huge hammer marked “The Hammer of Thor”. Dean flipped out, for a cool guy he always had a dorky obsession with comics and superheroes, but he caught his cool just in time for the Doctor to spin around and ask what he thought.  One expression of excitement and Dean knew the tour would end.  So he swallowed the urge to make muscles at the hammer and casually walked out of the room. The next few rooms were assorted books and documents. Dean didn’t even have to pretend to be bored at those snooze-fests. Then there were a couple of freaky hats. A couple more had pictures of weird looking people. Aliens, the Doctor explained, from four galaxies over. All of the rooms held crazier and crazier things; stretched out skins, bottles of bluish liquid, a waffle iron, and other things Dean couldn’t even put a name too. Resisting the urge to hunt something, Dean made his way through the strange to the just plain disturbing until they finally stopped at room 114B.

            “ Oh this one…you wouldn’t be interested in this one” said the Doctor as he tried to casually move on to the next one.

            “ You showed me a book about intergalactic fungus, I think I can’t get any less interested in what’s behind  this mystery door” Dean insisted.

            What could the Doctor say? His need to impress people remained his biggest weakness. Pulling out his sonic screwdriver he buzzed what seemed like Morse code at the door. The inner tumblers of the lock began to creak open. Finally the door swung open in to reveal Cas’s grace. It buzzed when Dean got closer until finally it glowed off the pedestal and rested on his shoulder. The Doctor’s jaw dropped, this was certainly new.

            “ Hey Cas buddy” Dean said to the grace. Then he turned to the shocked Doctor and started to explain.


	11. Got Your Grace

            “Let’s do Paris” said the Doctor as he weaved around odd colored beakers in the Tardis’s laboratory. Parties, operas, and saloon; Rose brushed the edge of the lab tables as she dreamed about the French enlightenment. She always did think she would look good in one of those fancy tea dresses. Alright, they would go.

            Minutes later the Tardis began to hum and spin wildly until the two of them landed smack dab in the middle of Paris, France… in 134 B.C. Instead of stone buildings and carriages, the Doctor and his companion were met with grassy fields and trees. Disappointed, Rose made a circle around the Tardis, taking in the view without really looking at much of anything. Not even a bloody road! Leave it to the Doctor to choose before Christ before Napoleon. But the Doctor looked just as confused. His face squinted more and more with every untouched rock, tree, and puddle he saw.

            “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think this is 18th century France” he said, his face now more scrunched up than a prune.

            Since they were already outside, neither of them could think of a reason not to explore around.  They hiked, they talked, they ate lunch. It was a typical Tardis excursion. That is, until the Doctor spotted a shining white orb burnt into the base of a tree.

It had burrowed itself about four centimeters deep in the charcoaled wood.  The Doctor gave it a few scans with the screw driver and determined it was utterly impossible. The orb was lukewarm yet it still sent smoke spiraling into the sky. Still, no other chemical reactions were taking place. In addition, the potential energy of the orb was beyond even Time Lord Technology. It was physically impossible yet, there it was. The more the Doctor scanned the orb the more excited he became.

“No trace of origin? Fascinating! Now there seems to be a signal emitting from it” the Doctor was gushing now, “ Rose do you here it? It kinda sounds like Caaaaassssssssssss Caaaaaassssss like a teapot. Do you think it wants some tea?” 

He said more but all Rose could do was suppress her laughter. A little white orb wanting tea? Ridiculous. That’s why she loved being a companion. To her it looked ethereal in an almost supernatural way. It was the same feeling she got when they had traveled to the pit, only instead of fear she felt protected. A sense of safety washed over her .Odd, she thought, normally we are the ones who save the day. But she could tell one day that little orb was going to save her. She just knew it. Meanwhile the Doctor was able to extract the ball from the poor tree and secure it into the Tardis vaults. Unlike Rose, he had his doubts: a feeling like that always comes with a price. Eventually the two of them forgot about the orb and Rose went far, far away.

            Now, Dean held that orb in the palm of his hand, talking to it like it was another person. Whenever he spoke the orb would glow a little bit brighter and it would begin to smoke. Before the Doctor could object, Dean turned to him and started to explain his side of the story.

“This is my buddy Cas… well part of him…he’s an angel and this is his grace. He needs to get it back to him or Hell boy is gonna wear him out like a meat suit. Now I don’t care if you wanna help me, just let take his grace and I’ll bust into Hell again. But this box thing would sure be a help so if you got a damn soul you should come to. So whattcha say Doc?” Dean said. His arms crossed over his chest and he impatiently stared the Doctor down. Either he was going to get help from him or be on his own. All Dean knew was that he was _not_ dragging Sam into Hell with him again.

The Doctor’s first thought was that there were no such things as angels and demons, Only stone angels and Daleks. Then he thought about Rose and had to change the first part. Then he thought of the pit and had to change the second part too. The Doctor sighed to himself; everything he thought he knew was always being changed. Dean’s stare was serious but it was also needy. It was obvious he couldn’t go back there by himself. Guilt, pity, and an impossibly strong curiosity forced the Doctor’s hand. He decided he would go.

 


	12. The Highway to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting in how many ungodly weeks it has been. I got a new laptop, it got a virus immediately, it shut down, the new one didn't have a word processor, and all other sorts of writers hell happened in the past month. Needless to say I had a little trouble posting. You have my humblest apologies.

   Now how does one get to Hell and still stay alive? The Doctor had no clue. The closest thing to Hell he had ever experience was back when he was in the Pit, face to face with what _might_ have been the devil. On Dean’s timeline that wouldn’t be for another hundred thousand years so that wasn’t really an option (plus he didn’t really want to go back there). Hell wasn’t even an actual place! Or at least that’s what the Doctor kept telling himself.  It was quite an exciting challenge.

    While he tried to think of a way to get to an impossible place, Dean poked around at the doo-dads and thing-a-ma-jigs on the Tardis.  One lever poured out an endless stream of chocolate milk. Another changed the colors of the lights. There was even a button that played a personal soundtrack based on the person who pushed it.  The result was an ecstatic Dean sliding through chocolate puddles to “Carry on my Wayward Son” in a perfectly timed light show. Three weeks of massive migraines and insomnia had finally caught up to him; he needed a break. Besides, the slight chaos he created was just enough noise to help the Doctor concentrate on a way to break into Hell.

   Was it a planet? Was it a solar system? Was it even charted at all? As far as the Doctor was aware, the Earthly Hell was fabled. But, then again, the Doctor thought the same thing about Neverland until he met Peter.  All he needed to do was concentrate on what he knew so far. “Hell” contained high levels of sulfur that exceeded that seemed roughly the same as the Earth’s core, yet also enhance telepathic transmission. Somewhere hot and radioactive. There had to be a direct connection to Earth for easy means of psychic transportation that wasn’t visible or mechanical. The Sun!

   The Doctor jumped mid-pace and slid half way across the Tardis floor on a trail of chocolate milk. It had to be at the center of the Sun just past the Radiative zone! These “Demons” could build up their psychic energy in the core of the Sun, then shoot their consciousness into an organism using electromagnetic waves. It even explained why all of the demon folk lore happened at night: they would be trapped without the connection to the Sun! The Doctor tried to explain this all to Dean in a matter of seconds but in his excitement it came out as “Sun beams! Radioactive! Demon highway! We’re leaving now!” Dean watched the Doctor jump around the controls half excited and half scared out of his mind.

   “Woah there buddy, where the Hell are you taking this Taurus thing?” Dean asked.

   “Exactly!” Shouted the Doctor.

   As long as they landed directly into the core and not in the Radiative Zone, thought the Doctor, things should be fine. That amount of precision, however, was not exactly a sure thing under such high heat and pressure. Allons-y. 

 

* * *

    Almost as soon as the Tardis began its usual hum, there was a tiny sizzling sound. Even with all protective shields on maximum power, the Tardis began to crack under the heat.  The Doctor worked his way around the control panel in double time trying to keep the flames from entering the interior. The power of the sun beat down on the Tardis and sent the Doctor flying this way and that. He worked one handedly; one hand for the controls and one hand for support. Dean, totally unaccustomed to the Tardis’ seizures, held on to a stair rail with both hands.

    A cuckoo clock had lowered itself down from the ceiling and was chirping on high alert. Originally, the Doctor thought that a happy bird sound would calm him down in such a dangerous situation as this but in retrospect it was just annoying. Its cheerful “cuckoo cuckoo” morphed in the heat to become an ugly caw. Eventually the whole thing burst into flames as did the rest of the Tardis. No amount of fiddling with the controls could keep out the heat once they passed the Convective Zone. All the Doctor or Dean could do was avoid falling bits of metal as they crashed along the walls of the Tardis.

    Then, in an instant, there was a hiss and cool steam started to rise from the hot interior of the Tardis. Smack dab in the middle of the Sun, the air changed from a torturous 15,000,000 Celsius to 43. Dean coughed and batted away the steam in a useless effort to see. For ten minutes there was nothing, then the vents kicked in. When the fog finally did clear, he could make out the outline of the Doctor bouncing around the controls in excitement.

    “What the Hell?!” Dean grumbled.

    The Doctor stopped bouncing just long enough to raise up his arms and shout, “ Exactly!”


	13. The Break In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another last post from me, sorry.

The outskirts of Hell was guarded by a tall wooden post fence. Beyond that, a wide moat bubbled a sickly yellow, separating the last legs of life and perdition. Hell was not a fortress nor a gigantic cage, but a deep pit with different levels to hold the circles of Hell. The waves of the moat waterfalled over the edge but the bottom was too far to hear a splash. When the Doctor and Dean stepped out of the Tardis they both dropped their jaws at the sulfur sea. The Doctor out of curiosity and delight; Dean out of fear.

“So smart guy, did you think of a plan before shooting us straight to Hell?” Dean asked. Never mind that going to Hell was Dean’s idea in the first place, Dean wasn’t about to admit he dragged him and another person back there. His denial was so strong that he did a one-eighty back into the Tardis. “ This is crazy Doc we can’t just run in to Hell and ask nicely. It’ll be impossible to get Cas…” Dean paused. Cas was family and he was coming home. Still, Dean wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to dive back into Hell. Damn, Dean thought as he tried to stop thinking about the situation.

In the midst of Dean’s moral confliction the Doctor was busy collecting sulfur samples. At 43 C the sulfur shouldn’t even be melty, yet here it was bubbling and boiling over. Just another marvel to add to the day’s excursion. With all of the proper samples collected, the only thing left to do was to find a way across.

To the touch, the sea was scalding so there would be no swimming across. The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the Tardis. It was thoroughly scorched. No way was she getting them any further into Hell. A bridge maybe? No there wasn’t as much as a drawbridge for the moat. Jumping was clearly out of the question, even with the Doctor’s new springy boots ( curtiousy of save the mayor of Gan’s daughter in the Cygnus galaxy). Maybe they could freeze the moat. If the molecular structure of the sulfur could just give a little bit they would be fine, but that would just draw attention to the two. The Doctor went through the list of each possibility and crossed them off one-by-one.

Finally Dean gained enough composure to remember how he got into Hell the first time. Dragging the Doctor from the base of the Tardis, Dean trudged the length of the beach until they reached a tattered old dock. In the distance they saw a speed boat racing it’s way back to shore. As it approached, Dean dug in his pockets and pulled out a couple of quarters. Looking at the two, Dean took the Ohio one he had been saving and passed the Wyoming one to the Doctor.

“Don’t eat it” Dean said as he placed it in his mouth.

When the boat finally docked, a man in a pink pinstriped suit leisurely hopped out and greeted the pair silently. He approached Dean first, knocked on the side of Dean’s cheek, and pulled out the Ohio quarter.  The suited man smiled at the small spaceman on the back of the quarter and slipped it in his breast pocket. Then he moved on to the Doctor.

“Wyoming? You have to be kidding me. I don’t ever get respect anymore. The devil himself wouldn’t dare cross into a dull hick place as Wyoming.” The man spoke in a thick southern accent, “well I guess Crowley needs the souls…Wyoming, sheesh. Anyway, I’m Charon and it’s time you folk went to Hell”

It didn’t take the Doctor very long to realize why Charon was in charge of ferrying people to Hell. He could not shut up. The whole way there was nothing but “I come from a proud line of Charons.” And my daddy this and my granddaddy that. He couldn’t be stopped through any means of changing the topic. The ride dragged on and on. Eventually, the Doctor caught on that the moat was purposefully pushing back the boat, giving their chauffer extra time to gabble on about the history of the family business. Dean, who had suffered this before, sat through the ride the same way he used to sit through class; glazed over. The trick was to ask just enough questions for the lecturer to run out of time to get to anything that involved class participation.

“When did this moat thingy get put up anyway?” asked Dean.

“ Well in 1924 B.C. my great, great, great uncle  four times removed, Cecil Charon, got into the brimstone business…” and the story continued on from there until they reached the mouth of the pit. As soon as the boat stopped so did the chatter and the two of them were thrown down to the first ring of Hell: waiting in lines.

 

* * *

 

The whole point of the line was to get you “Hell circle assignment” and figure out where you’d be staying for the rest of eternity. The first go around, Dean was lucky enough to skip the lines and move right on up to Alistair. This time he didn’t plan on waiting either. He ripped open the seam of his jacket and shook out the salt he had lining his pockets onto the floor. Before the Doctor had time to question Dean’s spur of the moment plan , Dean pushed past the red rope and began to shout.

“Hey Hell-Boy, you ugly-mugged son of a bitch!” Dean yelled at one of the demon guards. “I bet I could take on Lucy’s little home experiment. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

Dean waited for an onslaught of demon rage but it never came. Instead, the demon pulled out a glowing orb and whispered something into it like a walkie-talkie.

“Come on, Crowley got you whipped?” Dean taunted. No effect.

 Then there was a buzz on the intercom.

“Dean dear, why don’t you settle down. Since you and the Nurse hate waiting in lines so much why don’t you join your little blue box in Alistair’s office.” Crowley sang.

When the two of them woke up, the Doctor, Dean, and Castiel were all hooked into the wall.

 

“So I assume you have a plan?”

“Shut up, Cas”

“Hello, I’m the Doctor!”

 


	14. The Gorgon sisters

There was no one in the cell besides the three prisoners and the Tardis. The doctor, never being in Hell before, waited in solemn patience. Dean and Cas, however, knew the wait was unusual. There should be an initiation. There should be a demon fest of pain. There should not be this alone time when two of the prisoners still had some spirit.   
Dean noticed that Cas had all of his bones back; well, all except his middle vertebrae which had been replaced by an iron ring. In fact, for the most part he looked healthy. That was even more troubling than the lack of hell boys and girls crowding up the place. Cas was worried as well. He focused his ears for the sounds of bloody footsteps and the wails of other prisoners. Nothing. With Dean being worried over Cas, Cas being worried over Alastair, and the Doctor just being worried; nobody said a thing.  
When the doors finally did open It was not Alastair or Crowley, it was a group of three small nurses. Except for a few small stains of blood, the three women were clothed head to toe in strikingly bright scrubs. Veils covered the rest of their heads except for their long, black pony tails. The rolled in slowly, each taking their time to stand in front of one of the prisoners. As they came closer, the prison went from dim, to bright, to blinding.   
Somewhere in between bright an blinding the Doctor realized that the pony tails were swaying against the women’s head movements; they were alive. Each strand was thick and ….hissing? That was odd. Come to think of it, the Doctor thought, the hair resembled Vipera Berus.  
“Medusa!”  
The Doctor and Crowley’s intercom voice gave the answer at the same time. Only Crowley continued.  
“Medusa! Boys I know how much you respect family togetherness and all that nonsense, so I thought I’d celebrate your reunion with another! Meet the Gorgon sisters. One of them had a rough night, Poseidon had some fun, and the rest got chopped to bits; all good fun. Anyway, by the time I got to them one was a stoner and the other two were acting all bitchy. Boring! So I thought, ‘why not make the little lovelies all alike’? And to think that they have you to thank. Well, I’ll leave the rest of their thank you to them. Buh-bye now” Crowley was having too much fun with this.   
Then the women pulled off their veils. Their faces were covered in a thin layer of snake skin; grey and dead. A hoard of snakes twisted free from each other and began to lunge, not at the prisoners, but at the nurses. With little love bites the snakes carefully ripped away the snake skin veils, revealing three fair cheeked women. Dean, Cas, and the Doctor tried their best not to look them in the eyes.  
“Why do you look away?” The first woman hisses. Only, the voice didn’t come from her mouth, it came from her hair.  
“Why do you hate us?” Said the second.  
“Men.” Said the third.  
They grabbed at the prisoner’s throats and forced open their eyes. Dean saw an emerald green, The Doctor saw blue, and Cas saw Hazel; then the Gorgan sister’s eyes went black.  
The process of turning man to stone was not as easy as the myths had said. First, Dean felt his toes freeze. Then the chalky sensation started at the top of his head and fingers. Inch by inch the prisoners felt the pressure of stone closing in on their internal organs. Taking the liver; the lungs; and then, the heart and brain together.


End file.
